


Razor Edge of Youth-Filled Love

by LydiaN



Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaN/pseuds/LydiaN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing sex scene from the fic "And He Is On the Run," added by popular demand (aka people poking with pointy sticks). It stands on its own but has more resonance if, pardon the pun, inserted between Chapter 3 and the Epilogue. The title is excerpted from "Carlisle Wheeling," aka "Conversations," by Michael Nesmith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Razor Edge of Youth-Filled Love

The road to seduction had always been bumpy for Mike and tonight's excursion was no exception. En route to the bedroom he tripped over his underpants, his own feet, and Peter's feet, then he bumped his shoulder hard on the door jamb. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, saw his skinny body clad in nothing but black socks, and sighed. Why would Peter, with his dancer's grace and aura of serenity, want anything to do with someone like him?

Mirror-image Peter stepped closely behind mirror-image Mike, elegant fingers sweeping up and down Mike's ribs as he cocked one hip. The sight was so erotically charged that it almost obliterated the feelings rocketing across every inch of skin. Mike felt Peter's admiration in every light touch but could not imagine what Beauty could possibly see in the Beast. As if subliminally aware of Mike's confusion, Peter lowered his head enough to take a little nip at the side of Mike's neck. "Stay with me, Mike," he whispered. "It's more fun."

Mike had to agree as he saw and felt Peter's fingers knead at the tense muscles of his shoulders. The everyday aches and pains that came with hours hunched over a guitar dissipated as if by magic. "Aah! There!" Mike heard himself shout when Peter reached a particularly tricky knot. In the mirror he could see Peter's expression of rapt concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking from between slightly-parted lips as he worked at the tender spot. 

Peter followed the path of his fingers with little kisses, then stood on tiptoe with both arms wrapped around Mike. He ran his fingers through the black chest hair before moving his hands apart so he could play with Mike's nipples. Mike gasped and leaned backwards, pleased to feel Peter's arousal pressed tightly against him.

With a fond, knowing smile, Peter moved one hand and placed it under Mike's chin, tipping his face upward until they were eye-to-eye in the mirror. "Now, do you finally see why I want you?" he queried in mock exasperation.

Mike still couldn't comprehend why Peter wanted him, but he had to admit that the two of them looked good together. They had in common the long, sinewy limbs of youth, but the difference in their faces was striking. Peter's countenance was guileless and sweet, lacking the shadows and world-weariness that always lurked in Mike's eyes. Where Peter smiled fully to show off the deep dimple in his right cheek, Mike kept his lips tight over his crooked teeth and ducked his head.

"No," Peter insisted, spinning Mike around so they faced each other. "Forget the mirror. Look at yourself in my eyes, Michael. Tell me what you see."

Finally, standing naked before his dearest friend and looking into his dilated brown eyes, Mike truly saw himself. Disheveled hair and pursed lips could not conceal the unabashed yearning in his reflected face.

He was beautiful, after all.

With a cry of pure delight, Mike leaned forward and pressed his lips against Peter's again and again and again, as if kissing him were the only hope of salvation in a ruined world. Peter hummed appreciatively against his mouth and began backing up toward the bed. He miscalculated slightly and fell backwards against the mattress with a surprised yelp, still clutching Mike's body with his strong hands.

From his position straddling Peter's thighs, Mike could easily reach down and play with Peter's erection. He wrapped his left hand around the length and stroked up and down. Peter moaned and arched upward so Mike lightly ran his calloused fingertips over the head just to see Peter's reaction, which was an immediate, gasped oath. "Oh, fuck, Mike!"

"Later," Mike promised. "Right now, I'm gonna play you, pull all the sound out of you."

Peter's eyes, half-lidded and full of longing, were focused on Mike's right hand. "If I'm your guitar, then you're using the wrong hand to make me sing."

Flinching, Mike subconsciously folded his thumb over his weakest fingers. "Naw, man, my hands are so ugly compared with yours. And that one's worse anyway, you know it already." 

"Let me see," Peter implored. Gently he unfolded Mike's oddly-clenched fist and kissed his thumb, then each finger in turn. When he reached the two misshapen ones he lavished extra attention on them. "I might just like these ones the best," he murmured as he licked the fingertips until Mike shivered. "They've been broken."

"That's a little sadistic, Peter," Mike grumbled, trying to cover his growing discomfort at having anyone, much less Peter, getting such a close look at his disfigurement. 

"No, not like that. They've been broken and never really healed. I think that's true of this, as well." Peter placed their joined hands over Mike's heart. "I think that's why you're convinced that you're ugly and unlovable, because you're a little broken inside."

Mike, smiling indulgently despite the lump in his throat, leaned over to kiss Peter's forehead. "And you can heal me?"

To his surprise, Peter didn't make a joke. His eyes were as serious as they were compassionate. "I wish I could. I wish I could show you how to love yourself, Michael. All I can do is show how much I love you. All of you. Even the parts you don't like."

He could not possibly doubt Peter's sincerity. With a shaky sigh, Mike shifted the distribution of his weight and switched hands. "Won't be as tight," he mumbled, embarrassed by the sight of Peter's joyous visage.

"Does it look like that's a problem?" 

Mike had to admit that it did not. Peter's face was flushed, his eyes feverishly bright and lips parted with the effort of breathing. "Doesn't feel like it, either," he commented as Peter's cock twitched and swelled in his hand. He kept time with Peter's breathing, increasing the tempo in steady increments until Peter began to writhe helplessly. "That's beautiful, babe, you look so good when you do that," Mike crooned.

"Oh, God," Peter gasped, "I'm gonna come..."

"That's the plan." Mike loved the wantonness of Peter's rolling hips and the sound of his throaty moans.

"I'm...I can't..."

If Peter had suddenly sprouted wings and a halo, Mike didn't think he could look any more perfect. "Yes, you can, Shotgun."

"Slow down!"

"Don't wanna."

"Mike." Peter grasped Mike's wrist and took a deep, rasping breath to steady himself. "I'd probably fall asleep three seconds later, and then where would you be?"

That got Mike's attention. He squeezed Peter's cock at the base then pulled his hand away, absentmindedly licking the bitter-salt residue from his index finger. "Good point." He still wanted to send Peter into a frenzy, but it would have to wait. He stroked Peter's hair off of his damp forehead and followed the gesture with a soft kiss.

"Sorry, I need a minute," Peter wheezed as he threw his forearm over his eyes. Mike used those few moments to rush into the bathroom, his distended cock jutting upwards like the mast of a ship, and find the bottle of lubricant he'd only ever used on himself. When he returned to bed he had scarcely begun to unscrew the cap when Peter sat up, grasped Mike's buttocks, and pulled him close enough to take Mike's cock into his mouth.

"PETER!" Mike roared. Unmoved except for the slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, Peter began to lick and suck until Mike was straining not to thrust. "I won't last...five minutes..." he panted.

Peter released him, cradling the distended organ in his palm. "That's okay. I'm undernourished and need protein."

"You...you..." Mike sputtered, then he cried out his pleasure when Peter took his length in his mouth again, leaving his hands free. "Oh God, yes, yes!" He saw Peter's hand reach for the little bottle and squeeze some of the viscous liquid onto his fingertips. Whatever Peter was about to do, it was going to be spectacular.

Oh.

After a lingering kiss to the head of Mike's penis, Peter lay back with his legs spread. He took one gel-slicked finger and opened himself with it.

Oh, God.

"You said," Mike began, but his voice came out half-strangled so he had to clear his throat and start again. "You've never done this with a guy? How do you--"

"Spend enough time on the beach at night, Mike, you see a lot of interesting things." Peter shut his eyes and added a second finger, wriggling his hips and sighing. "It feels better than it looks," he whispered.

"It looks pretty damn good." Mike's voice was still strained and he was reasonably sure that his blood pressure was approaching four digits. He snatched up the bottle with unsteady hands and slicked his index finger, which he gently added to the two Peter had already used on himself. With a devious grin, Mike angled the finger upward. Peter let out a surprised squeak.

"...the HELL?" When Mike stroked his prostate a second time, firmer, Peter involuntarily clamped down on their fingers. "Sorry," he gasped. "We'd better go for the real thing."

Mike nuzzled Peter's chest. "You sure?"

Nodding, Peter murmured, "I'm sure, Michael."

Mike's heart was hammering and his vision was becoming blurry around the edges. "I love when you call me 'Michael,'" he said, his voice thick with desire.

"'Mike' is for everyday. 'Michael'--that's for right now."

"And the next time?" Mike heard himself ask.

Peter's response was to pull Mike forward until he landed with his hands just above Peter's shoulders, so close that he could enter Peter with the slightest movement of his hips. Peter slipped his legs over Mike's shoulders, his gaze never wavering from Mike's cock. "Whatcha lookin' at?" Mike breathed as he nudged at Peter's opening.

"You."

"Most of me is up here," Mike commented wryly.

"Not the part that's going to go inside of me."

That was true. Mike slowly, carefully, breached Peter with the very tip of his penis. The world swam around him for a moment, then he remembered that Peter might not be having quite so delightful an experience. "You okay?"

Somewhere Mike had seen a photograph of a statue, a saint ecstatically welcoming a golden arrow that was poised to pierce her breast. That image paled next to the longing Mike saw in Peter's eager, awestruck expression as he smiled and nodded for Mike to continue.

Despite his own ferocious need, Mike watched out for any sign that he should slow down or--God forbid--withdraw. Apart from a single, fleeting moan and a brief grimace, Peter seemed as ready to accept as Mike was to give. "Go," Peter encouraged, gazing amorously up at Mike's face and seeming to like what he saw.

For his part, with the tiny bit of his brain that was still processing information not coming from his groin, Mike thought he probably looked like a scrawny, sweaty, grinning idiot.

Oh, well.

When Peter's ankles locked around Mike's back and drew him in further, anything like rational thought went for a long, solitary walk. For long minutes, Mike was unaware of anything but the sounds of their combined lust, their gasps and pleas for "more" and "harder" filling the room as if amplified by the finest sound system money could buy. He tried to concentrate on his own noises, tried to control or at least modulate them, but he was utterly helpless. It didn't help that Peter's voice alternated between deep moans and frenzied wails whenever Mike's cock brushed his prostate.

"Jesus, Peter, you could wake the dead!"

"The ones who died the little death, maybe," Peter responded, tightening around Mike until he almost howled with frustration.

The loss of control completely unraveled Mike. He turned his head, suddenly craving privacy as much as he craved release. He hid his face in Peter's shoulder as he felt the first fiery shocks of impending orgasm. Peter, seeming to understand the gesture, simply put his fingers in Mike's hair and whispered nonsense syllables into his ear. With a long, drawn-out cry, Mike pushed in all the way and let himself shatter in Peter's arms, in his body.

"Ssh," Peter soothed, holding Mike as he trembled in the aftermath. "I have you, it's okay, I love you so much, Michael..."

It was an effort to withdraw from the safe haven of Peter's embrace and Mike's entire body shook with the strain. He winced when Peter was unable to hold back a thin whimper of pain. "I'm sorry," Mike panted. 

"No, it's okay." Peter stretched his legs out fully. He held out his arms and Mike sank into them, still quaking with relief and other emotions too sacred to name. It took a few blinks before Mike's vision cleared enough to take in the high spots of color on Peter's cheeks and the astonishment in eyes that had never shone so brightly.

Wordlessly but with a smile as big as Texas, Mike passed the bottle of lubricant to Peter. To his surprise, Peter flung out one arm and deposited the bottle on the nightstand. "Not this time," Peter said firmly. He took Mike's right hand and made a circle of the thumb and forefinger. "Like before," he breathed. 

Mike knew his grin probably looked like a feral Cheshire Cat. He kissed the freckled bridge of Peter's nose, then put his hand over his lover's cock and began to tease it. until Peter let out a long, sensuous moan. "You're better than my twelve-string," he drawled. "The best sound I ever did hear."

Peter's body was tense, stomach muscles fluttering under Mike's left hand as his right hand continued pumping. How Peter had held out this long, God only knew, but Mike wanted to be certain that he 'gave as good as he got.' He added a little flick of his wrist at the top of each stroke, running his palm over the slick head for an instant before moving back to the root again. "You're so damn gorgeous," he declared as Peter bucked into his hand.

"Then watch me," Peter demanded breathlessly, "Look what you've done to me." His face contorted into a fierce mask of concentration, his teeth gritted. "Ohhh, Michael..."

"That's it, babe, you're there, you're ready..."

Peter's back arched, toes clenching. "Oh, God, I'm close..."

"C'mon, Peter..."

"God, yes..."

Mike kissed Peter just as he reached climax, Peter's cries vibrating in his open mouth so vividly that they almost had a flavor of their own. Pulling back enough to look Mike in the eyes, Peter touched his cheek with shaking fingers. He tried to say something but no words formed. Mike kissed his forehead. "I know, Peter, I know."

They lay on their sides, facing each other, silently marveling at how the simple contact of flesh upon flesh could create such bliss. As if he'd become suddenly shy under the spotlight of Mike's scrutiny, Peter blushed and tried humor. "There's a wet spot," he grumbled.

Too relaxed and sated to be offended, Mike simply raised his eyebrows. "Babe, the way you came just now, we should build a boat ramp on the edge of that wet spot."

Peter's laugh was the most beautiful music Mike ever heard. He wanted to capture that sound, to put words around it and inside it. He twisted a bit of blanket over the offensive dampness and drew Peter into his arms, smiling as Peter rested his sleek head over Mike's heart. The stubble on Peter's chin rasped along Mike's chest. It was an intriguing sensation, one that Mike would explore further somewhere along the way.

For now, though, all he wanted was keep his wandering minstrel safe. 

 

***  
END  
***

**Author's Note:**

> To see the sculpture referenced in this story, Bernini's "St. Teresa in Ecstasy," go here: http://www.commonwealmagazine.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Bernini-Teresa-in-Ecstasy.jpg


End file.
